


The Demons Of Life

by ClockRose



Series: The Demons Of Life [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Parents, Attempted Seduction, Demons, Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 11:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockRose/pseuds/ClockRose
Summary: Angelica Jones has a gift. She can change her personality like a chameleon changes colors. She also fights the demons of everyday life.*currently rewriting to make better before sequel. putting original here*





	The Demons Of Life

**The Demons of Life**

_Angelica Jones was a good person. She was a good student. She was top of her class and well respected in both the student body and staff of her school._

_She had always been well put together. People envied her for her brains and beauty. They thought she was perfect and had no problems. They were wrong. She fought the Demons of everyday life no matter what form they took. She had for years and she had always won. Till now._

_It's been six years scene she entered the Arena. The place where she fights the Demons she comes across. Time has all but come to a halt in her eternal battle with this new Demon. Every time she dies he just brings her back to fight again._  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Angelica,” he rasped. His voice was husky and smooth at once. She hated it. It drew her in, and then he spat her out, hard continuing this fight. Over and over this cycle just continued. There was no way out for her, and she wanted to just die.  
She saw his shadow cast on the wall in front of her. It took everything in her not to jump out from behind the old crumbling pillar she hid behind. It had taken years of abuse from the countless times he threw her. A few times the pillars had cracked her skull open and others they had fallen on top of her crushing her if he wanted to make that death slow, so he’d taunt her. A few other times he’d choked her or suffocated her all the while he’d just look down and watch as her life ebbed away. No matter how she died that last thing she’d see was his eyes staring blankly down at her.  


It was gone, the shadow, she realized. She popped her head out and took a quick glance. Nothing.  
Diving behind another pillar holding her whip to her chest she moved almost like she were the shadow. The whip, she realized not for the first time, was the only weapon she had left. He'd eaten her guns, snapped her swords, and thrown her bows and arrows in a dark void that she never knew a Demon could have. She was losing and losing hard.

“Angelica,” he called for her again. He sounded like warmth. Something she hadn't known in a long, long time. “Come on, you know how this goes. I'll find you eventually, ask if you want to make this stop. You say some form of 'No' and then we fight a little more. After a bit, I’ll kill you then bring you back to keep this up. You know what it’s like, every time. You remember every death. I know you do. The way you walk, the way your eyes have dimmed over the years, the fact that you barely stay still anymore. Come on, just walk out here and say you give,” he went quiet for a second as if waiting for her answer. She wanted to look, see if he was gone. If she was free. She couldn't help it, she wanted to be free of this Demon, so she headed out to see if he was there.

“Where are you?” She asked herself not seeing him.

“Right here~” was the reply. It was no more than a mere whisper, but she heard it just fine. He was right behind her, leaned in close enough that she could smell him. She loved it, hated that she did.  
‘Books and a crackling fire, I miss those,’ she thought for a moment. It had been a while since she had been this close to him. She craved human contact, but not from him.

She tried to put some distance between herself and her opponent but he blocked her before she could. He snagged her wrist and pulled it behind her back just for good measure.

“Angelica,” he purred, “Why do we keep fighting? You don't have to fight me.” She could hear him shaking his head in dismay.

“Yes, I do.” Her back was just as rigid as her voice as he moved just a little bit closer to his chest brushing her shoulders. As he moved it caused her shoulder to pull just a little further back.

“What reason would we have to fight?” he asked sweetly.

“You're a Demon.”

“And you’re human. You kill the Demons that are part of your life. The homework you get has a Demon, the new recipe you want to try out has a Demon, every time you get in a car, Demon tags along. Everything in your world has a Demon attached in some way. Most people can't see them, but you do. So you fight, but you don’t have to. You could stop fighting me.” Angelica was now practically pinned against the pillar and the Demon at her back. She resisted the urge to turn around and embrace his warm body. God, what she wouldn’t do to be under her warm blankets with the heater on in her room.

She missed her home. She missed her cat, a Maine Coon who didn’t know what personal space was. She loved when he’d walk in and jump on her bed then push whatever was in her lap out so he could just lay with her. Sometimes he’d demand to be petted and she would happily oblige.

She missed her room, with the giant window that was half her dad’s height; she used to watch as rain collected on it and fogged up. She missed how her accent teal wall would seem to change moods depending on how she felt and how the weather was. She missed her queen size bed with her tan duvet with her giant pillows and pink sheets that were impossible to get on because one of the sides was pushed up against the wall so she ended up doing acrobatics just to get them on. She missed popping open one of her smaller windows and crawling out on her roof and jumping to the tree she practically grew up into sneak out.  
She missed her mom, who’d been dead since she was six, and she missed seeing her dad passed out drunk on the couch. She missed when her dad would yell at her because he thought it was Monday or something and then he’d tell her to go do something in his drunken state.

She missed how her teachers would praise her and her class would happily agree but she could see in their eyes the hatred they held for her. She missed being called a whore and slut behind her back by the popular girls in school. It made her feel just as bad as she deserved to feel. She missed being beaten down because, at least she would feel something. All she felt now was frustration.

It was irrational but she missed so much; did she want to stop fighting the Demon? Was it worth not winning this battle, to see what she loved again? Was it worth letting herself lose to this Demon she couldn’t fight? Was it worth dying to stop fighting?

"So? What do you say? Do you want to stop fighting me? Do you want this eternally endless battle to end?” His voice was so gentle and soft like a lullaby long forgotten. Something she hadn’t heard scene was a child. She cast her head lower. He let her black hair out of the braid she’d held it in for years letting it cascade around her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a barely audible whisper. She didn't need to worry about him hearing her, he was a Demon and his hearing was far more advanced than hers.  
“For once, you speak the truth.” He brought his face down to rest on the top of her head. “Why don’t you want to let go?” He breathed in. He practically melted once he caught a whiff of her. He just wanted to keep hugging her till time fell away around them.

‘Odd, I hate her, yet I feel sad for her. I want her to stop fighting, yet I want to hold her. As is my nature, I suppose,’ his mind tuned slowly as a scene of calm fell. He was a little surprised when she spoke up.

“What happens if I do? I—” she paused forcing back the tears realizing that wasn’t what she wanted, no, needed to say, “I don’t want to let go. No, I— I don’t— I don’t,” she paused again swallowing, then blurted it out before she couldn’t, “I don’t know how to let go” she admitted to herself her composer breaking for the first time in years. He turned her and just held her.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Angelica asked herself, ‘You’re so weak, letting the man who’s killed you hundreds of times comfort you. Stop crying, you have no reason to cry!’ she mentally tore into herself again.

“Stop, don’t think that. You're not weak. You’ve lasted years with me, it’s okay to cry every once in a while. You don’t need to stay strong right now. Just let go. Okay?”

“But— but what if— what if— what if I don’t, what if I regret— regret letting go?!” she choked back her tears but they burst at the end.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m not going to judge you if you do, okay? But wouldn't you like to let go? You wouldn’t have to go to school anymore or hear those people who call themselves your friends talk behind your back just because you’re smarter. And you wouldn’t need to sneak a cigarette at night anymore while you watch the stars.”

“But I love watching the stars,” she muttered into his chest.

“So do I, but wouldn’t it be better to watch them with nothing else to worry about? Like, making sure all your school work is top notch, and that you do the best at that cafe you work at, or that Dad gets his ass up in the morning so you don’t get kicked out of the house with him blaming you because rent didn’t get paid? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah,” melancholy hung in her voice.

“Come on,” He turned taking her hand leading her around the Arena to the doors that would normally open when she beat the Demons. She barely noticed how they had rusted over and how they squeaked when the Demon pushed one open.

“Let’s get you home, so you can see just how well off the world is without you.”  
The rest of the trip was through dimly lit hallways. Angelica just barely noticed how they were dimmer than when she would walk through them and there was an eerie silence. It was almost like a death march.

After walking for what felt like an hour or so in silence they came to a stop.

“Well, we’re here. Come on, let's get you the reality check you need.”

They walked out into the light into a white hospital room. The room held so many flowers and balloons and ‘Get Well Soon!’ cards, it was a miracle people could get in the room.

“Why are we in a hospital? I went to sleep in my own bed, not a hospital,” Angelica asked.

“You don’t remember?” His gray eyes looked at her, practically compelling her to answer.

“Remember?” She heard her own voice echoing in her ears. Then she heard a slight cry. She looked over to the bed and saw a girl with ebony hair down to just passed her bust and pale skin with no marks or acne scars whatsoever. She was pretty, it would be hard to believe she had never had a boyfriend or been asked out before.

“That’s me!” Angelica’s blue eyes widened, making them more clear than before.

“Is it,” her companion stated, rather than asking.

“Then who’s he?” His head motioned to the lean man in sweatpants and an old grey stained shirt that sat next to her unconscious form holding her pale hand, crying just a little.

“Dad?” She walked closer to see what was happening a little better.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“I’m sorry honey,” there was a choking sound emitting from her father’s throat. He started talking again, “Please, please wake, please wake up. I need you to wake up. If not for me, for Xavie. He misses you so much. He just sits there on your bed and cries. I’ve never seen any cat cry before, but he is. He needs you. Please. If you wake up I’ll be a better dad. I’ll go through rehab and I’ll be there when you need me, so please wake up. I’m so sorry for hurting you. Please, I need you,” he begged the lifeless form that was his daughter.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Angelica turned on her heal and looked at her Demon companion.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What do—” there was a resonating slapping sound as his head whipped to the right sharply.

“What. Happened?” her voice was sharp and dropped a few octaves to an almost growl as her now bright red and prickling hand clenched into a fist, matching its partner.

“You don’t remember the fight?”

“Fight?”

“With your dad.”

“Fight? What fight?” Her eyes suddenly widened in realization.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“What are you doing home?” the masculine voice slurred behind the girl, who was still in her school uniform.

“I just got home from school, Dad. I'm going to take a shower and then I'm going to work,” the girl stated, pointedly, and stiffened.

“Work? You don’ work till Sa’urday!” his drunken accent showing through.

“That was last week, Dad.”

“No, it ain't’!”

“Yes, It was.”

“Quit lyin’ and ge’ upstairs to go work on homework!”

“Dad, I have work. I can’t work on school work on homework right now,” she stated calmly almost like she’d had this conversation with him a thousand times before.

“You wanna question me lil’ girl?” he slurred leaning against the wall, trying to use his height to intimidate her. She knew where this would be going if she kept insisting she was right, so she slipped into her almost-robot response state.  
It was something she used to become what the people around hr wanted. She rarely ever let it slip away except when alone, with her cat, or when she knew her dad was far too drunk to remember things.

“I’m sorry, Father,” came her emotion-filled voice. She sounded sincere, but she wasn’t. It was something she had learned after her mom had died. It was how she kept her dad going right after it happened. Being the perfect child had seemed to make him happy. That was before she realized how deep into this facade she was. Her true self, masked by this perfect person who was the best at everything no matter what it was. Who was better then she was.

She had learned to morph this perfect person to whatever anyone wanted over the years. In her mind, none truly knew who she was, and that may have been the truth— except for the Demons she fought.

She fought them in the shadows or the rooms where no one would see them. They were constant, almost always there. Sometimes she ignored them, just for a little break, just until she had the strength to go again.

“Are yo’ bein’ a smar’ass?” her father’s drunken accent came through clearer.

“No, sir. I just remembered that you're right. I don’t work till Saturday.” His hand came to her face.

“Th’ why you talkin’? Makes me wish you’d died in th’ crash an’ no’ your mother. ’oom. Now,” his voice was like ice on a winter's day. She knew better than to disobey, and he was giving her an out, so she walked to her room and quietly shut the door. And only opened it when she Xavie meowing for her to let him in. He wanted to cuddle and all the pets he could get.

A few hours later she came out. Her resolve was steel. She walked to her bathroom, but as she did so she could hear the TV downstairs so she knew it would be a while, if at all, until her dad checked on her.

‘Perfect,’ she thought as she locked her cat outside, watching his sad face as she did so. She wanted to bring him with her, but that would be cruel; she wouldn’t hurt him because she didn’t want to be here anymore. She just wouldn’t.  
She started a warm bath and opened the medicine cabinet. She pulled out an old prescription she hadn’t used in years but had yet to get rid of. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what this medication was for. She’d taken so many pills since her mom died that the doctors and therapists just blurred together now. She couldn't remember what one of their faces had looked like.  
As she closed the cabinet she caught a glimpse of a tall and lean, but fit, man behind her. His hair was just as black if not darker than hers; his eyes a shiny metallic grey, and his lips a blood dripping red. The kind she loved to watch move, but never did because she couldn’t bother other people. It wasn’t right, to bother people or the way his lips looked.

He smiled when they made eye contact. His grin was eerie and haunting. Something she’d never forget— something she didn't want to. He waved, his long slender fingers bending elegantly.  
‘Demon,’ she thought.

He walked up to her brushing a cold hand over her naked hip. She didn’t move. She liked the cold, liked the way it made her feel as if she were alive.

At least, for a bit.

He took the pill bottle and popped it open, dumping some into her hand. With his other hand, he held her wrists gently and brought her hand to her mouth.

She opened her mouth and let the pills fall in. They felt weird on her tongue, bitter but not unwelcome. There was a cup to her lips. She looked and saw it was the Demon. She took the cup and looked in.  
‘Water,’ she thought. She drank, taking the pills with her. The Demon turned with her and walked her to the tub, the water now warm and full. He helped her in and sat with her as perfect silence surrounded them. They sat there for what must have been hours until she felt the need to puke her guts up. She could feel it, in the back of her throat. It was strangling her. Angelica looked up, into the mirror and saw something horrifying, there was a Demon behind her, with there clawed, disfigured hands around her neck.

She couldn't pull her eyes away from theirs. The deep Demonic, bloodshot red eyes encased in sunken in wax because skin did not describe the melting, shiny, burning thing that it was. This was the demon of the pills. The demon that was angry to be used in such a way, and now it would kill her in retaliation.

Just as she was about to blackout, it loosened its grip till she smashed her head on the tub lying down. she looked back up at the two Demons. One held apathy, the other murder, and even that did not describe their red eyes well. Her entire body was numb and cold, the water having long gone cold.

“You’ll feel better if you sleep,” the gray-eyed Demon said, speaking for the first time.

“Hm. Sleep sounds nice. Will you watch me?” she found herself saying, though her voice was small and sounded like she had just coughed up saltwater or water from a pool that went down her esophagus.

“Of course.”

“Alright. Goodnight. Thank you…” The girl woke up in the Arena, where she would often fight the Demons. Where she would come face to face with the one who was watching her. Who helped her. Who she had thanked. She didn’t remember that, though. Not for six years, not until later, when they left to watch her slowly decaying body in the hospital.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
There was silence between the two for a long time as Angelica was brought from the memory.

“You?” she rasped out still in shock.

“Yes. I helped you,” he answered, sincere. His voice was like butter, but his eyes were like sharp rocks, waves crashing upon them. The kind of beauty that killed you.

“But I’m alive. How? And, in the hospital?”

“Your dad came to check you, not two minutes after you filled your lungs with water. He was sober enough to call an ambulance. You’ve been in a coma ever since. You forgot to lock the door. Had you done that, we,” he paused signaling between themselves and her father, “probably wouldn’t be here.”

“Dad saved me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but you could ask him if you choose to wake up. Or—” She cut him off.

“Or what?” she snapped, her glassy blue eyes raging with their own stormy sea, like his. He loved watching them like that, the fluorescent lights making them toss light around. What he wouldn’t do to watch them like that forever. He could have, had he not left the Arena with her.

“Or you come with me, leave behind this world that despises you. It hates you and the only thing that truly loves you is your cat,” he spat, “He won’t last long anyway.”

“So, you’re saying I could go with you and never have to deal with anyone else again, or I could stay in a living hell and hope it gets better? Hope I get better?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you? You aren’t like any other Demon I've met before.”

“That doesn't matter now. Do you have an answer?” She looked back to her father and the things around her. Then she looked back to the Demon his cool, calm demeanor, drawing her in. He was giving her a way out, as her father had. A way to leave everything and never look back, like he had.

“I’m staying.”

“You are?” he asked, curiosity and surprise slipping through.

“I am. I won't let myself get away that easily.”

“Are you sure?” He led her to her unconscious form taking note of how her voice seemed to still be filled with hatred for herself. “It’s not too late to come with me.”

“No, I’m sure. I want to stay.”

“Alright. It’s been fun, the fights were exhilarating. Thought for sure I could’ve gotten you. Looks like I’ll have to try harder, next time,” his voice filled with an unexpected cheer.

“Harder?”

“Hm... Lay back,” he instructed her ignoring her question. “Now, this will hurt. Ready?”

“Wait! Will I remember?”

"No. Anything else?” he asked a little exasperated.

“Yes! Who are you— No point in not answering, right? I won't remember.” She smiled up at him like he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. He glared down at her, but more in a fun way. The way you would see people banter in fun than anything else.

“Fair enough. Sit up a bit and I'll tell you.”  
She sat up and waited. He leaned into her ear like before and said, “I’m your Demon. The darkness you hide from others. The thing you can never truly beat. I’ll be here for you when you need me again. Have a good life,” and he shoved her down, forcing her to wake up.

She opened her eyes and looked into steely gray ones. Her Demon’s eyes, even though she didn’t know that. They danced, saying so many things, and she was still drawn in for some reason. She blinked and he was gone.

Like everything else in her life.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
One minute Doctor Warren was talking to the nurse, the next he was rushing into a coma patient’s room. She’d woken up from a coma of six weeks only moments ago. Reports said that she’d downed a bottle of old pain pills and held herself underwater in her tub. Had her father not found her, she would be dead right now. But she wasn’t. She was awake and her vitals looked fine, for the most part. She was stiff and her breathing labored but that was to be expected because of how long she had been inactive.

He was going to have to talk to her father about getting her help after he finished checking her over. But until then he was just glad she was awake and looked well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. I'm currently rewriting this to make it better before I move on to the sequel. This is just a story I came up with. Let me know what you think will happen in the sequel.


End file.
